Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Okay, not liking this new dashboard at my blogsite. Confused with all these little icon thingies. Nothing wrong with the old one, folks! I suppose I will figure it out, eventually. In the meantime, don't have a clue. Big horse is almost done. I ordered a new pastel book from Amazon.com, and it will be here tomorrow, at which time I expect to be inspired and everything I do will be so artful that galleries will be calling me. Well, it couldn't hurt anything, that's for sure. Quiet at the moment in the little yellow house. Both dogs are having their noon nap, the Pickle under the table, and Punk under the computer desk. Punk is in his "whatever" mode, where he is happy wherever he is, like in his kitchen pen while I slept in, outside the with Pickle, in the pen again while I took my bath, outside again, and then in the office while I tried to figure out how to post this amazingly interesting information. At least the power tools have ceased for a while. Guess it must be Miller time for the guys down the street. Plans for the day include starting a new painting, and a trip to the pet supply store for more piddle pads and rawhide bones for my pack. And maybe framing a couple more paintings. And maybe washing the car. And maybe making some noise of my own, contingent on starting my limping lawnmower. Okay. That's enough drivel. An aspirin, then lunch. That's plan enough for the cowwoman.